


Rapture

by birdsofshore



Series: Euphoria [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Birthday Presents, Birthday Sex, Blow Jobs, Cross-Generation Relationship, Draco Being an Arsehole, Facials, Jealousy, Kind of incesty, Kneeling, Light Angst, M/M, Malfoys Being Malfoys, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other, Pining, Power Play, Rivalry, Sexual Tension, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-13 20:27:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7135904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdsofshore/pseuds/birdsofshore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Al is turning twenty, and Scorpius is determined to give him a birthday that they’ll all remember. Sequel to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/4559295">Euphoria</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rapture

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gracerene](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracerene/gifts).



> Thank you, gracerene, for being such a lovely part of fandom - you’re a super writer, commenter, reader, mod, and fandom cheerleader. I don’t know how you manage it all! ♥ Please forgive the lateness of this gift. I loved revisiting these three kinky bastards and very much hope that you enjoy what they get up to here.
> 
> A massive thank you to lq_traintracks and who_la_hoop for betaing this for me.

  _Scorpius,  
  
Are you guys free for me to visit you next Sunday? No offence to my family, but I'm thinking a break from them might be nice after this big birthday bash on the Saturday.  
  
Al_

 

~*~

_Hey Al,  
  
Fuck yes. We can celebrate properly. Or _ improperly _.  
  
Come whenever you like. I'll make sure Dad's not busy.  
  
Scorp_

~*~

  
“Father.”  
  
“Mmm?”  
  
“It's Al's birthday next Saturday.”  
  
He carries on looking at his parchment through his reading glasses, but I know he's heard me.  
  
“He's going to spend the day here on Sunday. I thought we could have a small party for him. Just us. Then I might take him out in the evening, with Noel and the others.”  
  
“Hmm.” He turns over a document and squints at it.  
  
“ _Father._ ”  
  
“What is it, Scorpius?” There's a vertical line between his eyebrows. “Can't you see I'm trying to—”  
  
“Al's birthday. You're free on Sunday, right? I've told him we'll celebrate with him.”  
  
“Very well.” He studies the tiny writing again, then— “Sunday? Oh, no, Scorpius. Lord and Lady Hallwood are coming for lunch.”  
  
_Damn_. “Can't you cancel?”  
  
“No, no. You'll have to change your plans with Albus.”  
  
“It's all arranged. I can't cancel now.” I feel a ridiculous pang of disappointment. “It's for his birthday, Father.”  
  
He frowns at me over his half-moon glasses. He looks such an old fart in them. Then he sighs. “I suppose they don't usually stay terribly long. We can celebrate with Albus afterwards.”  
  
I grin. “Great. And he can join us for lunch?”  
  
He waves a hand, already back with his papers. “If he wishes.”  
  
“Thank you, Father.” Something occurs to me, and I take my lip between my teeth. “Father. You will... you will get Al a present, won't you?”  
  
He peers at me again. It's a long time since I was six, but he still knows how to make me want to squirm like a little boy. “Scorpius. I hardly need reminding of the proper etiquette for a birthday.”  
  
“No. Of course not. I just... OK. Great.” I turn to go, then remember. “Can I tell the house-elves to serve boeuf en croute? It's Al's favourite.”  
  
“Yes, yes. Whatever you like. Shut the door on your way out.”  
  
I go back to my room and sprawl on the bed. What a pain that Dad's got people coming. I'd hoped we could just relax and... well, I had a lot of ideas for the day. But there'll still be time, I suppose. I look up at the ceiling and start the planning in earnest.

 

~*~

My birthday's like a big muddle of noise and laughter and hugs and presents and the biggest, most terrifying Weasley jumper I've ever seen. Each arm must be about four foot long.  
  
“Well, you've grown so much these last couple of years, Albus dear.” Grandma fusses about, pulling at it and trying to smooth the lilac wool over my chest. “But doesn't that colour set off his eyes beautifully? Look, Ginny. Look at him!” She reaches up to pinch my cheek. “Your little boy, all grown up.”  
  
James smirks, and when no-one's listening, tells me I look like a total poof.  
  
“No shit, Sherlock,” I tell him, and then roll my eyes when he looks confused. He never gets anything to do with Muggle stuff.  
  
Dad cooks his famous curry and Grandma has baked a giant cake, covered with buttercream icing and a big number twenty that's charmed to glitter and give out sparks until it's cut. It tastes a bit sickly, but I manage two large slices, and she beams.  
  
Don't get me wrong, I love being with them all, but part of me keeps thinking about tomorrow. I wonder if Draco will be there – I know what Scorp said, but sometimes, when I go over, Draco's not around, even if we've planned it and Scorp's promised he will be.  
  
It's not like I don't enjoy it when it's just me and Scorp. He's brilliant. So funny, and cool, and, man, he's fit and gorgeous as well. And it's more than that. A lot more. Sometimes, I don't know. He makes me feel so fucking special.  
  
But the times when Draco's there as well... I'm shivering, right now, just thinking about it. Good shivers, right through me, making me shift in my seat, here at the dinner table, with the wreck of Grandma's cake in front of me and Uncle Ron and Uncle George pretending to Jinx each other over who's going to do the washing up. Draco's like... something addictive. Something that might be bad for you, but it makes you feel too fucking good to care.  
  
Scorp's like a long flight on a new broom in the sunshine. It feels fast and free and you're exhilarated and pink in the face and it's just so good. Afterwards you know your muscles will ache a bit, but in a healthy way, and you'll lie there all relaxed and peaceful and feeling pretty great about yourself.  
  
Draco's like a gloved hand in the dark, wrapping itself around your throat. Your heart hammers in your chest and it's too much, you feel a little bit twisted up and scared and you can't quite believe it's happening... but you love it. You don't really know what you're doing, you wonder what the actual fuck you're doing, but it feels too good to stop: too fast, too risky, too incredible. Afterwards, you look in the mirror and wonder if other people can see it in your eyes, what you've done. What you are.  
  
It's been nearly three weeks since I've seen him – properly seen him – and I'm starting to feel jittery, just thinking about it and how much I need it. 

~*~

There are few things more tedious, or less avoidable, than entertaining one's business associates.  
  
Lady Hallwood must have been here a dozen times over the last five years and she never fails to look surprised when I explain that Mrs Malfoy will not be joining us for luncheon because Mrs Malfoy, now Signora De Fiore, lives in a chateau in Italy with her second husband. A chateau that I personally paid for as part of our divorce settlement. And a large part of the reason why I have to entertain boring bloody people like this for lunch all the time is to ensure that I can continue to pay for the upkeep of that bloody expensive pile of bricks.  
  
I take a deep breath. “How's your sherry, Lord Hallwood?”  
  
“Oh, it's quite all right, Malfoy. I do like a good drop of sherry.”  
  
I don't know where the children have got to. Albus appeared at about eleven this morning, all rosy cheeks and rumpled robes as he tumbled out of the Floo, but he and Scorpius vanished upstairs and haven't been heard of since, except for the odd muffled burst of laughter.  
  
I can't deny I'm looking forward to – how did Scorpius put it? Celebrating with Albus, later on. It's been a very wearing couple of weeks, and I've not had any time for relaxation. I make a mental note to make more time for the two boys. It's important for Scorpius to spend time with his father. An image flashes into my mind of Albus as I had him last. Laid out naked across my bed, his hair sticking to his face with sweat and the nearest wall spelled to a mirror shine so I could watch myself fucking into him with long, merciless strokes.  
  
I could see Scorpius reflected there too, a shadowy, quiet shape sitting in his accustomed spot in the corner. He always sits quite still, as if afraid that movement will break the spell. Still, but for the intent movement of his hand, that is.  
  
The dinner bell rings, and I realise I have been utterly inattentive to my guests' interminable tale about their last Portkey to Greece. Hopefully they're fond enough of the sound of their own voices not to have noticed. I smile and gesture towards the door. “Won't you join me in the dining room?”  
  
A smug look of satisfaction creases Lord Hallwood's plump face. “Excellent. We can always be sure of getting something good here, Malfoy.”  
  
“Our house-elves have been in the family for generations, naturally.”  
  
What is it Scorpius asked for? Ah yes, beef Wellington, in honour of Albus' birthday, and here they are, both scrambling to get down the stairs first as if they were twelve rather than twenty. I raise an eyebrow, and they stumble to a halt and take the last few stairs in a more sedate manner.  
  
It’s a moment or two before I take in exactly what Albus is wearing. His outer robes are off, now, and he appears to be wearing the tightest, most revealing pair of Muggle jeans it’s been my misfortune to see. His t-shirt is not much better - a flimsy white thing with a v-neck, the short sleeves snug around his biceps.  
  
Lady Hallwood pauses in her snail's pace to watch them. Lord Hallwood looks as if he'd sooner not be detained on his way to the dining room.  
  
“You remember my son, Scorpius.”  
  
“Of course. And...?” She swivels her head towards Albus.  
  
“Lady Hallwood, this is Albus Potter. He and Scorpius attended Hogwarts together.” It takes some effort to stop my gaze from dropping below Albus’ face.  
  
“Dear me!” She looks at him over her glasses. “But of course. You're the image of your father when he was a boy.”  
  
Albus dips his head. “Everybody says so. I'm pleased to meet you, Lady Hallwood.”  
  
Her face wrinkles with pleasure. “Delighted.” She extends a gloved hand and, Merlin, it's clear that the old bat is actually expecting him to kiss it. Scorpius catches my eye, but although Albus looks a little pink around the ears, he takes the outstretched hand and manages it quite passably.  
  
“Oh, delighted,” Lady Hallwood repeats, as Albus shakes hands with Lord Hallwood, and I can practically hear her telling all her friends how she met _the youngest Potter boy – so very charming, you know_.  
  
I wonder if it will get back to Potter himself. I wonder if he knows how much time his son spends here.  
  
I wonder if he cares.  
  
I steer Lady Hallwood towards the dining room once again, throwing a quelling look over my shoulder at Scorpius who looks like he's suppressing laughter, but I still hear him whispering to Albus as we make our way along the corridor. I glance at the clock as we go past. Barely half past one. But Lady Hallwood always insists on leaving soon after lunch, no matter how long her husband would like to stay and doze in front of the fire and sozzle himself on my good brandy. She has some revolting little Crup she likes to get home to. I plaster another smile onto my face. It will only be an hour or two. How bad can it be?

~*~

I feel such an idiot. I didn't know they were having guests for lunch. Scorp said a birthday meal, and then, afterwards...  
  
He didn't exactly go into details, but I know he was hoping it'd be a chance for the three of us to be together. Man, I really hoped so too.  
  
Scorp's hand is warm and firm in the small of my back as he whispers close to my ear. “Don't worry. They never stay long.”  
  
Draco glances back at us, a frown on his face. He looks so unapproachable today, his robes all stiff and starchy and done right up to his chin. I'm really regretting wearing these bloody jeans, now. Lily got them for my birthday, from that new shop on Diagon, the one with all the leather stuff in the window, and I hadn't realised quite how fitted the jeans were until I wriggled into them this morning. When I twisted round in front of the mirror to see what I looked like from the back, I nearly took them straight off again. Merlin! I've never seen anything so tight! But I was already running late, and I thought... well, I had a pretty good idea that Scorp would like them.  
  
OK, I admit it: I thought maybe Draco would like them, too.  
  
This corridor to the dining room is about a mile long.  
  
“I can't wait for them to go,” Scorp breathes in my ear, his hand just skimming across my arse, sending a squirm of excitement through me. “You look so fucking hot today.”  
  
I think I make some sound, because everybody looks round at us, and Draco's frowning again. His eyes flick quickly up and down my outfit and I curse myself for dressing so casually, but unless I’m imagining it, there’s a flare of heat in his eyes as they sweep over me.  
  
We reach the dining room and it looks even more fancy than usual in there. There are candles everywhere and a dazzling white cloth on the table, laid with so much silverware and cut glass, and then these very elegant flowers in the middle. It looks a little bit like when Victoire and Teddy got married.  
  
“How lovely.” Lady Hallwood nods her approval.  
  
“I gave Scorpius free rein with the decorations. He made all the arrangements for this meal, in fact.”  
  
_Wow. This is all for me?_  
  
Draco pulls out a chair for Lady Hallwood. “Albus celebrated his birthday yesterday and my son wanted to mark the occasion.”  
  
“What's that?” Lord Hallwood tilts his head at me. “A birthday, eh?”  
  
I nod. “Yes, sir.”  
  
“Well, well. How old?”  
  
“Twenty.”  
  
“Do you hear that, Margot? Twenty years old.” He nods at me, the loose skin under his chin wobbling. “In the prime of his youth.”  
  
Scorp gestures at me to sit down next to Lady Hallwood.  
  
“I remember those days,” Lord Hallwood chuckles. “Though it was quite a while ago for us, eh, Malfoy?”  
  
Draco's smile looks rather pinched.  
  
“Hope you're sowing plenty of wild knotgrass, my boy.” Lord Hallwood gets himself settled in his seat. “I bet the witches are not safe around you. Handsome lad like him, eh, Malfoy?”  
  
Draco's eyes flick over me once again, and the merest hint of a smirk plays on his lips. “Indeed.”  
  
I feel a pulse of heat along my spine.  
  
Scorp's voice is clear and confident. “Father and I have something a bit special to give Albus, later.”  
  
“Splendid!” Lady Hallwood beams. “Whatever is it?”  
  
“I'd love to tell you.” Scorp looks innocent, but I can see the smirk hiding below. “Really I would.”  
  
“Scorpius,” Draco cautions, his voice low.  
  
“But I don't want to spoil the surprise.”  
  
“Ah, of course not.” Lady Hallwood reaches to pat my hand. God, I'm sweating.  
  
“It's a secret, you see. But I don't think Al will forget it in a hurry. Do you, Father?”  
  
I don't know how Scorpius can be like that, with Draco sitting there looking like hexes will fly if he says another word. My mouth is dry. But, just as Scorp probably intends, I can't help thinking about the three of us together. _Later_ , he said. Oh, Merlin, I hope so. I think about how it feels when Draco closes the door of his room and it's just the three of us. When there are two pairs of eyes on me as I undress. And then, holy hell, when Draco's inside me and Scorp is watching and I'm half out of my mind with it...  
  
“How very exciting!” Lady Hallwood reaches to pat my hand. “Aren't you excited, my dear?”  
  
I just nod. I can't look at Scorp any more, but I can feel his glee radiating across the table. He can be such a git. It’s not even funny, but I have this horrific urge to giggle.  
  
“Champagne, Father?” Scorp asks innocently, and the bottle glides over the table to fill everyone's glasses. Then there's a small pop and the first course appears on the table. It's salmon, which I love, but my stomach is tight with nerves, and I don't think I can eat a lot.  
  
Scorp takes his glass in his hand. “To Albus.” His eyes are full of amusement, and as he takes a sip and then swipes his tongue across his top lip, I feel anticipation fizzing inside me, just like the champagne bubbling in my glass.

 

~*~

You would not believe how long it takes two old duffers to eat a meal. I honestly don't know how Father puts up with this all the time. I don't know why he bothers – it's hard to miss the fact that he's seriously rolling in it, but every week it's business meetings, contracts to pore over, and boring old buggers round for lunch. By the time the pudding is served – tiny pots of a rich creamy chocolate which slides down your throat like silk – I'm almost out of my mind with impatience. I even consider getting drunk just to take the edge off... but that would put a dampener on our celebration later, and I notice Father's being abstinent with the wine himself.  
  
Al hasn't eaten or drunk a lot, even though he grinned appreciatively at me when the beef came out. I wonder if he's too busy thinking about what's coming next, when it's just the three of us. Wondering what it is we're planning. I made it pretty clear that it was something he'd be happy about, but he seems sort of nervous, and it's hot as fuck.  
  
We messed around in my room for a bit, earlier, while Father entertained the Hallwoods downstairs. I couldn't help it. Al's bum in those new jeans – holy Merlin. I had him sit astride me, his denim-clad arse pressing sweet and sinful against the length of my erection. I got him all revved up, whispering low and dirty in his ear about how my dad wouldn't be able to keep his hands off him. Al was bucking up against me, whining for it, his eyes imploring, but I told him it'd be all the better if he didn't come yet. It nearly killed me to hold him still and promise him _later_ , especially since I had the stupid fucking idea of saving myself for today. I haven't had so much as a wank since Friday – no, actually, it was Thursday night. Merlin, no wonder I feel like this. I'm almost feverish, my skin tingling, like the air around me is charged with endless potential – of the carnal variety. I tell you, it took every ounce of willpower I possess not to simply pull Al down onto me and grind against him until I came, spilling hot and sticky in these bloody formal trousers Father expects me to wear.  
  
I steal a look at Father. He's smiling politely at some story Lord Hallwood is telling, but his eyes keep straying to Al. Al's licking chocolate off his spoon, his tongue searching out the last traces of sweetness, a dreamy expression on his face. Then it's as if he feels the heat of my dad's gaze resting on him. His eyes connect with Father's and he colours, all at once, his normally pale cheeks flushing pink.  
  
I watch them both for a minute, then stretch my legs right out under the table and manage to nudge Al's calf with my foot. His eyes snap to me straight away.  
  
Lord Hallwood's voice rumbles on. “And then, Malfoy, the ruddy fellows had the nerve to claim it was the 1931 vintage. I said to them, 'I know port. Don't tell me I don't.'”  
  
Al's eyes are wide. I hold his gaze and mouth silently, _I want you_ , and watch the shiver of desire travel right through him, his eyes closing for a moment. I wish we could have him right here on the table, Father and I, lay him out naked on the best Malfoy linen. Sweep all of the glass and cutlery aside, let the flowers be crushed under his perfect arse as we pin him down and have our way with him. I chose all this so carefully, wanted the table to look fitting for Al's birthday, but now I want nothing more than to rip those jeans off and fuck him on the ruins of this bloody meal, taking turns, first Father, then me.  
  
Father’s left half of his chocolate, and he’s still not drinking much, but he plays with his wine glass, stroking his fingers slowly along the stem, up and down, in a steady motion. I’ve no idea whether he’s doing it consciously or not, but he certainly has Al’s attention. Al’s face is full of yearning, begging with his eyes as if Father might take pity on him. But what can any of us do? Father sends the wine bottle bobbing over to refill Lord Hallwood's glass again. Perhaps he’s trying to sozzle the old git so much that he falls asleep at the table? “Fascinating,” Father says, in answer to another of Lord Hallwood’s boring stories, but at the time he's watching Al's mouth.  
  
Al doesn't move, but his whole body seems to strain towards Father, and I'd bet my new broom that he's hard again. I think about what his cock must look like, hidden under the tablecloth, his erection blatant under the skin-tight denim. What it must feel like, the constriction of it. He must be cursing the fact he chose those jeans, just as I’m congratulating myself on wearing the flowing robes Father expects when guests are here.  
  
Father's eyes are smoky, his face unsmiling as he lets his gaze wander to Al again and again. Merlin, Al looks as if he'd like to crawl across the table on his hands and knees just so he could get closer to Father. Father is openly staring now, letting his eyes run over Al's body, over his beseeching eyes and gently-parted lips. Nobody could sit here and not notice the heat between the two of them. Nobody. Except for Lord Hallwood, who has his nose in his glass and is making soft snorts of approval, and Lady Hallwood, who is wondering if they hadn't better be getting back to little Chubsy.  
  
“God, you really can't _wait_ can you?” I tell Father, and I'm not sure whether I'm delighted or appalled at how obvious he’s allowing himself to be.  
  
“I beg your pardon, my dear?” Lady Hallwood asks, and Father snaps his attention to me, a warning written all over his face.  
  
I smile. “To give Al his present. We're all pretty psyched up about it.”  
  
“Oh, of course. Montague, my dear, I think we should be going now. Leave the young people to enjoy themselves.”  
  
Lord Hallwood grumbles at being moved on, and Father makes polite protests at their going so soon. But not with much conviction.  
  
“I am sorry, but Chubsy will be missing his mummy. It was lovely to meet you, Mr Potter.”  
  
Then there's a wait while the house-elves fetch their cloaks. It seems to take about a week, especially with Father's eyes fixed acquisitively on Al's arse when we all stand up to see them off. I guess they're either too decrepid or too posh to use the Floo, because Father's arranged a Portkey for them, but I think I might have to break out the Unforgivables when Lady Hallwood starts searching about for a lost handkerchief at the last moment.  
  
“I'll owl it to you the very moment it turns up,” Father assures her, but apparently it belonged to a beloved great-aunt and she can't bear to leave without it.  
  
Al's expression is beginning to look rather odd, his eyes glazing over. Father just about keeps a smile on his face, but there's a tension in the air as if something is about to snap. Eventually, in desperation I say, “What a shame for poor Chubsy. I do hope he isn't inconsolable when you finally get back.”  
  
“Oh, my word!” Lady Hallwood waves a hand. “We simply must go. Thank you, Malfoy.”  
  
Lord Hallwood shakes Father's hand. “I'll be in touch, about that piece of land you’re interested in. Come and have a drink at the club sometime. They've a very fine Bordeaux, I think you'd—”  
  
“Montague, _please_.” Lady Hallwood takes her husband's hand and lays it on the Portkey. There is a blur of colour where they stood, a brief disturbance of air, and then they are gone.  
  
Al sags with relief against the wall. I close the distance between us and kiss him. I mean it to be soft and reassuring, but it turns hard and needy almost instantly.  
  
Then Father's hand is on my shoulder, pulling me away. “Kindly remember that you are not too old to be punished for disrespect, Scorpius.”  
  
Al makes a little noise, a desperate noise, and we both turn to him. He's got that look on his face he sometimes gets. Like he needs it, really bad.  
  
Father makes a sound that's almost a growl. “And I don't know what you think _you're_ doing turning up here looking like that. At least Scorpius was decently dressed,” he tells Al.  
  
“I— I didn't know you had guests. I would never have—” Al looks like he's genuinely upset.  
  
“Merlin.” Father looks furious, then his expression softens. “Don't pull that face, you ridiculous boy.” He grips Al's shoulder and shakes it, but very gently. “It's only that you have driven me to distraction.”  
  
Al colours again, biting his lip, then looks up at my dad through his lashes. “How do you mean?”  
  
Father's eyebrows draw together in a look I only see him use with Al. On the surface it's stern, but his eyes crinkle into something softer, fonder. “Don't play the innocent. You know perfectly well what I mean.” He gestures to me. “Tell him, Scorpius. Tell him how he looks.”  
  
I swallow. “You’re so fucking hot, Al.”  
  
Al looks at me, his eyes so warm, so guileless. Sometimes, when he's with us, he seems like he can't believe his luck.  
  
“We were sitting there at the table, and all either of us could think about was how much we wanted to fuck you,” I tell him. “Right, Father?”  
  
“Please.” Al looks like he's in pain. “ _Please_. Can we go to your room? Draco? It's been so long.”  
  
I look at Father. He's drinking Al in. The tortured bliss of his face, the tense, eager lines of his body, and the bulge pressing at the flies of those jeans. “Soon,” my father says, with satisfaction, and Al whimpers. “We do have your presents to unwrap, after all.” Father turns to the drawing room. “This way.”  
  
Al casts a begging look at me, but there's nothing I can do. We follow Father into the rather draughty room, where he is unlocking a bureau. He takes out a rolled piece of parchment and a squashy-looking package wrapped in ribbon and tissue, and turns to Al. “Happy birthday, Albus.”  
  
Al looks slightly taken aback. “Wow. Thank you. I wasn't expecting...”  
  
My present has been in the pocket of my robes all this time. I slide it out and hand the envelope to Al. “And here's mine.”  
  
Al takes them from us and stands awkwardly with his hands full. “Thanks, Scorp.”  
  
“Well, sit down,” Father says, unfastening his robes. He and Al sit on the long sofa while I follow Father’s lead and escape from my robes with relief before sinking into an armchair.  
  
Al's looking at the things as if they might be Howlers about to catch fire. “Which should I open first?”  
  
Father waves his hand. “Why not see what Scorpius has given you?”  
  
Al puts the package carefully to one side and starts to open my envelope. I know he'll be pleased. How could he not be? I managed to get hold of two tickets for the best seats at the Bulgaria/Norway final next month. But I'm not expecting the slow smile of joy that tugs at his lips and then lights up his whole face. Nor the fierce glow which ignites in my own chest at the sight of it.  
  
“Oh, Merlin! So fucking cool, Scorp!”  
  
I shrug. “I knew you wanted to go.”  
  
“Even Dad missed out on getting these!” Al gets up and grabs me, hugs me tightly. “You're amazing. You'll come and see it with me, right?”  
  
“Course.” I grin.  
  
Al sits back down, shaking his head happily at the tickets. “Wow,” he says. He slips them carefully back into the envelope and puts them on the table. Next, he takes up the tissue-wrapped parcel again, but almost straight away puts it back down. He looks almost scared of it. He gestures instead to the rolled up parchment. “I should open this first, right?”  
  
“As you wish.” My dad waves a hand casually, but his eyes are fixed on Al's face, like he doesn't want to miss a moment of his reaction.  
  
Al unrolls the parchment slowly, a smile hovering around his mouth, and then just sits there, looking at it. The smile falls away. “I— I don't get it.”  
  
Father speaks kindly, as if to a child. “It's a Gringotts note. We don't deal in coins for this sort of amount.” He smiles. “Far too heavy and inconvenient. You simply take it to the bank, as you would Galleon pieces, and they'll sort it all out for you.”  
  
Al's shaking his head, holding the parchment away from him. “Draco. I can't take this.”  
  
Father waves his hand again. “Don't be ridiculous. It's a birthday gift.”  
  
Al looks up. The hand holding the parchment is shaking, but his voice is firm. “I don't _want_ this.”  
  
Father laughs, but there's the inkling of something else. The beginnings of the realisation that he might have fucked up. “Of course you do. It's gold. Everybody wants gold.”  
  
Al puts the parchment down on the table, looking like someone's punched him. _Shit_. I can't see the exact number written on the parchment, but there are quite a few zeroes.  
  
I lean forwards. “It's what he always gives me, Al.” This is true. A birthday isn't a birthday without a generous bung from the Malfoy coffers.  
  
“I don't come here for that,” Al says, and his voice sounds tight and shaky, almost as if he's trying not to cry.  
  
Father is frowning, and I can see he's at a total loss. He clearly had no clue that Al would be anything other than delighted. The bloody tosser. I told him to get a present – but I meant something personal, not Galleons, like Al's some whore who expects payment for his services. If Father's ruined today with his fucking thoughtlessness...  
  
“You could put down a deposit on a flat.” The line between Father's eyebrows is deeply furrowed. “Or... I don't know. Travel or somesuch. I doubt they pay you enough at that shop for you to be able to—”  
  
“They pay me OK, thanks.” Al's pale, with two spots of colour high on his cheeks.  
  
“Al. It's just what he does. Seriously.” I move to sit on the arm of the sofa next to Al, put my hand on his shoulder. “He thought you'd like it.” I look at Father, my throat prickling uncomfortably. For god's sake, why doesn't he say something, why doesn't he explain— “He didn't know it would upset you.”  
  
“Of course I bloody didn't.” Father's sitting stiffly. “Why on earth—”  
  
I throw him a look and, miraculously, he falls silent.  
  
Al looks up at me, then at Father, and swallows hard. “I'm not trying to be ungrateful. I just... Draco, I don't want your money, that's not why—”  
  
I cast around desperately. “Look. Forget about that. Open the other one.” I reach forward and thrust the soft parcel into Al's hands. _Fuck, Father, this had better be good._  
  
Al's back to looking almost fearful again. Whatever it is, it's certainly exquisitely wrapped. Al glances up at Father, hesitates for one more moment, and then tugs at the elegant ribbon.  
  
The wrappings fall apart with a whisper of tissue and there's something soft folded in Al's hands. He holds it up, and it's some kind of fancy knitwear, unmistakably cashmere. The weave is as fine as gossamer, in a sea-green colour that doesn't exactly match his eyes, but that I can see will bring them out perfectly. He splays his fingers over the wool, then brushes the pad of his thumb across it, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. I smile, imagining the intense softness against his skin, like a lover’s caress, and then he's on his feet and stripping off his t-shirt in one impatient movement.  
  
It feels like Father and I both hold our breath as Al's torso is revealed. His nipples pucker at the sudden exposure to the air, and his stomach muscles tighten as he scrambles to pull on the sweater. His head slithers through the hole and I see for the first time that there's a hood at the back, in the same fine-knit wool as the rest of it. I realise that my father has somehow managed to find a ludicrously luxurious version of Al's favourite kind of hoodie sweatshirt.  
  
Al smooths the cashmere down over his bare skin. It must feel amazing; it certainly looks it. It fits snugly across his chest, around his trim waist, scooping down around his neck so that his collarbones just peek out. It looks like it’s been made for him. Quite possibly it _has_. His hair looks black as night, the deep green making his skin glow, and his eyes are shining. He looks at my dad as if no-one ever gave him a present before, my Quidditch tickets long forgotten.  
  
“It's beautiful,” Al says simply.  
  
Father doesn't speak. His head tilts nonchalantly, but there's a hint of pink on his cheeks.  
  
“And you chose this for me?” Al asks.  
  
Father nods, then stands and reaches to stroke the jumper as it sits across Al's shoulders, as if appraising the fit. His fingers trail downwards over Al's biceps and I imagine how it must feel, the softness of the wool shifting over the firm muscle beneath.  
  
Al's eyes close for a moment and my father strokes his thumb over Al's chest, as if brushing away a speck of something. Father does it again, once, twice, and I see the nub of Al's nipple peak to meet his touch through the fine wool.  
  
“I love it,” Al breathes.  
  
My father is staring at him, watching his face, looking at him in that way he has, as if there's no-one else in the room.  
  
“Thank you.” The words are so soft, his lips pushing forward as he forms them, with my father staring at his mouth the whole time, and all I can think is, _thank Merlin, thank Merlin_.

~*~

Of course I chose it. I wouldn't trust anyone else to find something that suited him so well.  
  
I got a Portkey to Milan on a whim a few days ago. I needed a new pair of shoes, anyway, and then I thought, while I was in the city, why not pick something up for Albus, too?  
  
I strolled through the Galleria until a window display caught my eye. Cashmere seemed so apt for him. It's warm and playful, so delightfully sensual – and this shop was clearly aiming to appeal to young customers with their colourful display. It even featured some sweaters with those absurd hoods Albus apparently likes so much. I spent half an hour browsing there, stroking the fine wool, imagining how each piece would look on Albus' frame. Imagining him sheathed in luxury, in something that fitted him to perfection. Something _I_ chose for him, understanding the best way to show off his body. I got them to gift wrap it, surprised at the smile which flickered across my lips at the thought of giving it to him.  
  
It's certainly satisfying when he lunges at me, pressing me down onto the sofa again, his mouth soft and warm and fervent, his kisses full of eager appreciation. I find my hand in his hair without quite knowing how it got there, and a lapful of determined twenty-year-old. He moans into my mouth, two armfuls of delicious contrasts: the pillowy lushness of his mouth, the chaos of his thick hair, the way his body feels against my fingers, wrapped in the finest cashmere and those deplorable slutty jeans.  
  
He squirms against me, his voice urgent, “Oh, please, god, yes, Draco, please,” and I have to grip him tight to stop him grinding against me, my fingers implacable, digging in harshly to his narrow hips.  
  
“Wait,” I tell him, but he just groans and shudders in my arms, as if he's past hearing. Merlin, it has been a while. I've never seen him quite so near the edge so quickly. “Albus,” I say sternly. “Not yet. You have to wait.”

~*~

Merlin on a fucking broomstick, Al looks as if he's about to come in his new jeans just from my dad groping his arse a bit. I feel the familiar compelling twist of heat and darkness in my stomach, as complicated and pleasurable as the very first time. My eyes run all over them, their tangle of limbs and hungry mouths right here in front of me. It's somehow even more taboo that this is happening in our drawing room, where we're in the habit of entertaining the gentry: my boyfriend, writhing in my father's lap, shameless and persistent. I want to soak up every detail, every sigh and grunt, but it wasn't meant to be like this. Not today. I clear my throat, and Father's eyes dart to me. I can see he'd completely forgotten I'm here, but I suppose he does literally have his hands full.  
  
“I thought we were _all_ going to celebrate,” I say, trying to sound casual about it rather than petulant, and I see Al soften at last in my dad's arms.  
  
He turns his head. His eyes are wide and dark, his mouth already wet and well-kissed. “Yes, please, Scorp. I want both of you. Oh, please.”  
  
I meet Father's eye over Al's head and raise my eyebrows. “Father?”  
  
He sighs, but it seems more for show than out of real reluctance. He raises a hand to me, and as soon as I clasp it, the three of us are plunged into the fleeting darkness of Apparition, and then tumbling onto the soft wide space of Father's four-poster.  
  
Al laughs with relief and sinks back onto the creamy white expanse of my father's sheets. “Oh, god. I can't even tell you how much I've been waiting for this.“  
  
Father kicks off his boots and crawls towards where Al is lying. “What have you been waiting for? Tell us.”  
  
Al laughs again, but when he speaks again, it's softer, more shy. “You. You and Scorp. I've wanted you both so much.”  
  
I toe off my shoes, and wonder if I dare strip off yet or whether I should wait. Father's face is full of a sly hunger. “I know what you want. And so does Scorpius. Say it now, Albus. Tell us _exactly_ what you need.”  
  
It's so fucking cute how Al still gets shy. I've lost track of how many times I've seen him with my dad's cock inside him. How many times I've sucked him off, how often he's seen me wanking to the sight of Father pounding away. How many times I've felt his tight arse clenching around me. But he turns his head away now, at the question, his smile secretive and slightly dorky.  
  
“I want you. I want you both. I want... “  
  
Father's on his hands and knees, his arms either side of Al's face. “Yes?”  
  
Al smiles up at him, bites his lip, his eyes half-closed. My stomach flips over with wanting him so much. “I want your cock, Draco,” Al tells him, in a whisper. “I want your cock, and I want Scorp's, too.”  
  
My father's eyes are alight, his face only a couple of inches from Al's. “You're a greedy slut, aren't you?”  
  
A small whimper escapes from Al's throat, and I see his cock throb in his jeans. My father sees it too, and places his palm across the thick bulge, his expression gloating.  
  
“Please. God. I need it.”  
  
“Oh, you shall have it. Don't worry about that.”  
  
Al writhes upwards, pressing towards my father's touch. I can't wait any more. I snatch off my socks and start to undo my shirt. Al turns his head to watch and makes a low moan of longing.  
  
“We'll give this desperate little cockslut what he needs, won't we, Scorpius?”  
  
Merlin. My father's face is almost exultant. I've got my shirt undone, and I shuck it off onto the floor. “Father.”  
  
He doesn't take his eyes from Al, watching Al's face as he presses the heel of his palm against Al's cock. “Yes?”  
  
“I've got an idea. For Al's birthday.”  
  
He frowns. “Yes, I know. And we're doing it, aren't we?” He looks down at Al again and smiles. “We're doing it right now.”  
  
“Something different.” I say. “Al, do you want something different?”  
  
Al's eyes are unfocused. He makes a raw sound as my father strokes the length of his cock through the denim.  
  
“ _Al_.”  
  
“Uh. Scorp. You're— _uh_. Amazing. Want you.”  
  
“Yes. You want me and Father together, don't you? Something new.”  
  
“God, yes. Anything. Please.”  
  
Father turns his head now, his forehead creasing. “What now?”  
  
“Please, Father. It's for Al.” I'm shrugging off my trousers now, and then stop as they both look at me, feeling very exposed standing there with my underpants tented obscenely.  
  
“Scorp...” Al moans. “Yes. Please...”  
  
I sit on the bed, my legs curled beside me, and reach for him. I brush his hair from his face, cradle his cheek in my palm. My dad sits back on his haunches, working at Al's belt, slipping the prong out of the hole. Al looks from one to the other of us and his face is full of wonder. I bend to kiss him, keeping it slow and sensuous, resisting his hand clenching around my neck to pull me in. Father peels Al's jeans off, the denim clinging to Al’s legs, and we all stop and watch his cock spring free, thick and dark, a pearl of liquid gathering at the slit. Fuck, it’s beautiful. But Al _moans_ at the sight of himself, as if seeing it makes his desperation that little bit more real.  
  
My own cock twitches, powerful and insistent, and I touch myself through the cotton of my pants. Al wets his lips. “Scorp... “ He reaches for me, stretches a hand towards my erection, but my father frowns and shakes his head.  
  
Oh hell. This is never going to work, if Father won't even let Al touch me. He's so fucking mercurial about what he will and won't allow. After that incredible day when he let Al have both of us at the same time, he banished me back to the chair for about a month, the bastard, and it didn't matter how much Al begged – he wasn't playing. I'm pretty sure Father enjoyed it as much as we did, but he just likes the power of it, the sick bastard.  
  
Al's bottom lip plumps into a pout. “But, Draco...” He looks confused and hurt again. “I thought...”  
  
Father shakes his head. “Not until you take this off.” He pulls at the hem of Al's new jumper. “Cashmere and cleaning charms do not mix.”  
  
_Fuck_. That sounds promising. That sounds like...  
  
“Yeah, Al, you don't want to get spunk on your fancy present.” I wink at him, and he sits up and wriggles out of the jumper in a flash. He usually dumps his clothes on the floor, but this time he folds it and looks around for somewhere to put it. I take it from him and lay it carefully over the armchair. I've no intention of ending up on the chair myself. Not this time.  
  
Al sits on the bed, wide-eyed and full of a breathless longing, like a child on his first visit to Honeydukes. Father stands and starts to undo the cuffs of his shirt. Al watches for a moment, then reaches for me again, looking at Father questioningly as he skims his fingers across my cotton-covered hard-on.  
  
It's really anyone's guess what Father will permit on any one day. Sometimes he's even kept me out of the room, but Al usually complains fiercely enough that he relents. But what he will never consent to is watching me and Al without taking part. My father dislikes being sidelined, it seems.  
  
But this time, he merely nods, and continues to work on his shirt buttons. Al grazes his knuckles against the bulge of my cock, and smiles in that shy, eager way that almost kills me. “Want you, Scorp,” he says, so quietly that I almost don't hear it. “Want to taste you.”  
  
My legs feel unsteady, but I wait for it to pass and then step into the V of Al's legs. He looks like he can't quite believe this is happening, and I'm feeling the same way. He leans in and nuzzles at the ridge of my erection through my pants. Fuck. His mouth is hot and sweet, and even through the material I feel the damp heat of him waiting to take me in. I feel Father's eyes on us and, dear god, it makes everything so intense.  
  
“I think you had better go slowly, Albus.” Father is smirking at me as he undoes his belt. “Scorpius doesn't look as though he can last very long at all. Really, Scorpius, are you nineteen, or fourteen?”  
  
_Hell_. I bet the bastard thinks he's being very funny. Al looks up at me, his lips soft and full and open, rubbing his cheek and then his nose against me, breathing in the scent of my body. “I don't mind,” he says quietly. “I like making him come.”  
  
You know what? I don't give a shit what my father says. I let out a heavy sigh, almost a groan, and arch against Al's face, a wet spot spreading over the material at the tip of my cock.  
  
“And Scorp can get hard again, really fast,” Al tells Father. Oh god, I love Al so much. I daren’t look at Father’s face. I have a terrible feeling I might laugh.  
  
Al pulls the waistband of my pants so that the head of my cock is free, then lets his tongue run over my slit. _Uhhh_.  
  
“ _Really_ fast,” Al says.  
  
I glance at my dad, and he’s not impressed. “Any bloody idiot can get it up. Having a clue what to do with it is quite another matter.”  
  
He shucks off his underwear in one easy motion, his own erection curving upwards. Al lets out a little moan at the sight of it, his eyes glazed. Father steps towards us and then he actually jostles me aside, so that he's in front of Albus and I'm pushed to one side. “Albus,” he says, standing with his legs apart, holding his cock at the base so it points directly at Al's mouth. “Happy birthday.” He smiles as Al opens for him.  
  
Merlin. Only my father could offer his own cock as a birthday treat with complete seriousness. Al takes it down, almost the full length of it, his eyes closing in bliss, and my own cock throbs with want. God, they look perfect together. Father's smile is almost cruel, his body lean and powerful, and Al looks transported, and so, so beautiful with his mouth full of cock.  
  
I feel a jab of irritation, though, even as my eyes run all over the two of them. I can't stop looking at Al's mouth and the way Father's cock disappears as he feeds it between his lips, but... Al said he wanted _me_. He was just about to suck me, for fuck's sake, and Father pushed in, and—  
  
Al pulls off and laps at the head, and I can imagine the feel of his avid, skillful mouth. Father cups his face with his hands, tenderly, as though Al is as precious to him as he is to me, and I feel like I don’t want to watch any more, the hot spikes of jealousy sudden and fierce in my gut.  
  
“Draco...” Al says, and he makes it sound like poetry, his eyes dark and shining, and I can't look away, not even if I want to.  
  
Then Father grips Al's hair and gives it to him in one deep, sure thrust, his thighs tensing as he drives forward until Al makes a small choking noise, and I'm just... _uhhh_. My hand wraps around my cock and I grip myself firmly, imagining the silky wet heat of Al's mouth and how the tightness of his throat must feel as Father nudges inside. _Fuck_. Father keeps holding Al's head, and now Al's eyes are watering, Father's gaze on him hot and gloating, drinking in every detail. Al's cock twitches in mid-air as Father shifts his stance, pressing just a little bit deeper, sinking Al's nose into the blond curls at the base of his cock.  
  
It hurts to watch them, oh fuck, it still hurts, but it's also... it's like this is the match of the century, and I've got the best seat in the stands.  
  
When Father releases Al's head, Al pulls back, gasping for air and making low, choking sounds, and I can't stand the way it makes me feel any more. There was a time when I would have been horrified to see my dad use Al like this, treat him roughly for his own enjoyment, but now all I can think is that I want it to be me, thrusting into that heavenly, hot mouth and making him struggle for breath.  
  
“It's my turn now,” I say, and my voice is so much rougher and darker than I expected.

~*~

I look up at Scorp, and for a moment it's like I'm looking at Draco. They're always alike, of course, but there's usually something much softer about Scorp. His face is not so sharp as Draco's, and his eyes are a warmer shade of grey, and... I don't know. There's just something comfortable about him, most of the time. But at other times... there's this edge to him. And faced with the two of them, now, like this, both looking so... _driven_... both wanting me, and looking so mercenary about it, I feel a crazy shiver run all the way down my back until it settles at the base of my spine.  
  
I have to swallow before I can speak. My throat feels rough anyway, from taking Draco so deep, and it comes out like a rasp. “Yes.”  
  
Draco doesn't say anything, so I reach out a hand, and Scorp steps closer. He's still wearing his briefs, his cock thick and straining against the material. I feel light-headed with wanting him. Wanting both of them.  
  
I shift sideways on the bed until I'm in front of Scorp. Oh, god, all I want is both of them. I dream about it sometimes, want it so bad that I can taste it, but Draco doesn't usually let us. He usually sends Scorp to the armchair to watch. But this time... this time…  
  
I lift my hands to peel down Scorp's underwear, feel the stretch of the elastic against my fingers and the heat of his body beneath, when Draco says, “Stop.”  
  
I look up at him and his face is stern. _Oh, god. Oh, please..._  
  
He seems to be considering something, then he points to the floor. “I think we'll have you on your knees.”  
  
It only takes a second to slip off his bed and onto the thick wool rug which lies on the floor. He looks down at me approvingly. “Very good. Now, Albus. Why don't you—”  
  
Scorp interrupts him. “Remember, _I've_ planned something, actually, Father? For Al's birthday.” He looks at Draco, and he's not smiling.  
  
“This _is_ for his birthday.” Draco strokes my cheek. “You like to please me, don't you, Albus?”  
  
Before I can answer, Scorpius continues. “Yes, Father, but I thought that we'd—”  
  
Draco's mouth is a thin line. “You thought what? You thought that you'd tell me what to do in my own bedroom?” He smiles, but it's not at all friendly.  
  
I can see the tension in Scorp's body. “No, but—”  
  
“No. While you're under my roof, you'll both do as I say.” He looks dangerous, standing there.  
  
I don't know what to do. Scorp's hands are clenched at his sides. Oh, god, I just want him to be happy. I want to make them both feel so good, but maybe wanting this to work isn't enough. Maybe someone's always going to get hurt. I look up at Scorp, pleading silently with my eyes. Hoping he can fix it.  
  
Scorp stays silent, his eyes flicking from me to Draco.  
  
“Please,” I say. “Please.”  
  
“All right.” Scorp’s shoulders drop down. “What, then, Father?”  
  
Draco smiles, showing his teeth this time. He strokes my face again and this time, runs his thumb across my bottom lip, pulling at it just a little. “Now, Albus. I want you to let my son enjoy your mouth.”  
  
I catch my breath for a moment. _Yes. Oh, yes._ Then tug at Scorp's pants, pulling them down till they're around his thighs, and then further, so he can step out of them. He's a little soft, now, and I feel anxious in case Draco says anything, but as soon as I lay my head against Scorp's thigh and nuzzle his cock with my face it starts to stir, filling out again. I take him between my lips, savouring the clean taste of him, tinged with salt and musk, and it takes no time at all to coax his prick back to being fully hard.  
  
Draco sits down on the bed behind me, his knees either side of my back, watching over my shoulder. I wonder if he can feel the pulse of my blood thumping through my veins. My breath comes fast and shaky as I lick Scorp from the base right up to the tip and then swirl my tongue around the ridge of him. “Oh, yes, that's very good,” Draco purrs, and I do it again, hot all over at the thought of two sets of eyes on me.  
  
I let Scorp slide into my mouth, all the way in, inch after perfect inch, and then I'm moaning around the length of him. Hell, it’s so good. I often bring myself off just thinking about exactly this – being down on my knees with my mouth full of cock. And now, the fact that Draco’s here, too... That Draco’s _watching_ me do it, _encouraging_ me...  
  
“Oh, god, Al—” Scorp blurts out, and his hands fly to my hair.  
  
“Mmm. He sucks cock like an angel, doesn't he?” Draco's praise curls into my ears like the sweetest music. He sits a little further forward on the bed and I feel his erection pressing against my back. “Is he the best you've had?”  
  
“Fuck. _Yes_. The best by miles,” Scorp says, sounding breathless, and I feel like I'm flying.  
  
Draco's hand snakes around my chest and lightly pinches at my nipple, gently twisting. I moan again, and then again, until Scorp's legs are trembling beneath my hands. Draco leans forward to speak closer to my ear, low and intimate. “I could fuck you like this.” His cock twitches against my back. “Have you sit on my lap and ride me, while I let you suck my son's cock. Would you like that?”  
  
Oh, god. I'm dizzy with how badly I want them both. I actually have to stop for a moment, too unsteady to hold myself up, but Draco's hands grip me firmly and guide my head back to where Scorp's prick is waiting.  
  
“Oh, Albus,” he whispers. “You want it so much, I know. Don't stop. It's my turn again soon.”

~*~

I'm not sure exactly how it came to this. I didn't intend to end up fucking Harry Potter's youngest boy on a regular basis, let alone sharing him with Scorpius. But here we are, and it turns out that it's surprisingly enjoyable to watch my son’s cock push into the sweet clench of Albus' talented mouth.  
  
There’s a moment, at first... when I see how much Albus wants him. The same look of breathless anticipation on his face that I’ve seen directed at me so many times. It surprises me how I feel to see that; I don’t expect the brief twist of pain in my chest, but then I look at Scorpius, remember how very alike we are. Of course the boy wants us both. How could he not? Scorpius looks just like me when I was younger, and seeing the raw carnality of his face as Albus takes him down deep, I could almost be watching _myself_ getting my cock sucked.  
  
“Turn around – no – to the side, like that. And you move there, Scorpius. Yes.”  
  
_Yes_ That’s a much better angle, with the two of them side on to me. Scorpius shifts his hips, thrusting forward a little and I see every flicker of sensation that crosses Albus’ face. I have to admit it’s really a better view in many ways than when it’s Albus and I alone; I can see Albus’ throat working, saliva collecting on his chin. I can see the care and devotion he puts into the act. And it’s not as if I can’t join in any time that I like. I don’t know why I was so averse to the idea of seeing the two of them together before.  
  
It doesn't hurt that Albus does look so very like his father, either.  
  
My hand is in my lap, just resting there lightly and sending sparks along my skin every time it brushes against the length of my erection. It occurs to me that if Scorpius and I took turns to enjoy Albus, we could make far better use of him than we do now. I wonder how many times we could fuck him, each of us watching the other and resting in between, before we exhausted ourselves. I would think at least five. Possibly six or seven. I seem to remember being more or less unstoppable when I was Scorpius’ age. I wonder how long it would be before Albus begged for mercy.  
  
I wonder if we’ve got time for that today.

  
~*~

 

Al’s mouth is about the best thing I’ve ever felt. I don’t know how he got so fucking good at this – and he just _loves_ it. I can see it on his face. I can _feel_ it, the way he really gives it all he’s got, and the noises he makes, and the way he slows right down when I’m about to come, as if he wants it to last as long as possible. And, oh, fuck, the way he closes his eyes, as if sucking my cock is the closest he can get to heaven, and then, bam, just like that, he opens them again and looks up at me with those eyes and the most filthy-sweet look on his face. It just about dazzles me.  
  
I’m not going to last long. I never can last long when Al’s on his knees, but today, with my dad watching, his angular face taking everything in and nodding his approval as I give it to Al a little deeper… Merlin.  
  
“Suck his balls,” Father says. He’s talking to Al, but it’s me he smiles at slyly as he speaks. “The way you love to do with mine.”  
  
Fuck. _I’m_ the one with my dick in Al’s mouth, but somehow it’s still all about my dad. Al nuzzles along the seam of my bollocks, then takes the left one tenderly into his mouth. _Nnngh_. Oh, hell. The shocks of pleasure radiate right down to my toes. I didn’t know Father liked this; I’ve never seen Al do it to him. I wonder what else he gets Al to do when I’m not there. I wonder if I can make Al tell me, later, or whether he’ll get all shy, and— _holy fucking Merlin_ , Al’s mouth is going to kill me.  
  
“That’s it,” Father says. “Now the other one.”  
  
_Ohhh_. Al lets out a hum of happiness around my ball. I can’t— It’s too much. “Stop,” I gasp, and Al pulls off immediately and looks up at me, his eyes big and concerned.  
  
“It’s OK,” I pant it out. “Just felt too good for a moment.” I cup his face with my hand. “You’re incredible,” I tell him, and his eyes soften, his lips nuzzling into my palm and placing a kiss there.  
  
“Too much for you to handle, is he, Scorpius?” My dad’s smile is so fucking superior. One of his hands trails across Al’s shoulder, his fingers curling around the muscle, and part of me wants to slap it away.  
  
“No, I’m fine,” I tell him, wishing my voice sounded steadier. I bring Al’s mouth back to my cock, cradling his face between my hands and sliding in again, the sweetness building, rippling along my thighs, the thought of coming in Al’s mouth while Father watches leaving me breathless, beyond words.  
  
“Ahhhhh. _Ahhh_!” Al’s tongue, his lips, pull desperate sounds from me, and my hands are tightening in his hair when Father orders, “Stop.”  
  
Al relaxes his mouth immediately, but I grip his hair and thrust forwards, whining. I’m so fucking close.  
  
“Stop,” Father says, and he tugs at Al’s shoulder to physically pull him away from me.  
  
I give a growl of frustration. Al looks anxious as he peers up at Father’s face, but Father just pulls him in and kisses him, slow and open-mouthed, and, hell, I think I might come anyway. Al’s cock is flushed and leaking onto the floor, and as Father tips Al’s head back, possessive fingers splaying over his throat, I see a shudder run through Al’s body that ends with his cock twitching powerfully in mid air.  
  
“My turn,” Father whispers, and the part of me that isn’t fucking furious with him is thinking, _As long as I get to watch_.  
  
Al reaches for him, a soft moan rising in his throat, but my dad gets to his feet and stands over him, his fingers twining in the curls of hair at Al’s nape. With the other hand he trails the head of his cock over Al’s lips.  
  
Al’s eyes are glassy with need. He looks like he’s drunk on cock. “Please, oh please,” he breathes.  
  
“Please what?” Father asks, and it seems cruel, when it’s clear Al can barely string a sentence together. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear the answer.  
  
“ _Uhh_. Give it to me, Draco.”  
  
“Yes.” Father’s face is gloating. I sink down onto the bed, my legs shaky. I make sure I can still see everything: Albus’ eyes, dark and hungry, his mouth shiny with saliva, the way his nostrils flare as he leans towards my father, as if trying to drink in the smell of him.  
  
“Please. I need it. Need your cock. _Uhh_. Want you to come in my mouth.” Al cranes his neck, trying to take Father between his lips, but my dad holds his shoulder and keeps him at bay.  
  
“Yes. Soon. But, Albus…” Father grips his cock at the base. “Just a little bit of amusement, first. Do you think my son and I are the same size?” He slides his eyes slowly across to me. “Or is one of us bigger?”  
  
_What the fuck, Dad?_  
  
“Uhh. I don’t know.” A little furrow appears at the top of Al’s nose. “Big. You’re _both_ big.”  
  
“Yes, I know. But I think we can do better than that. It’s an interesting question, isn’t it?” Father tells him gently. “Come here, Scorpius.” Father points to the floor at his side, and when I don’t move, turns to look at me. “We need you over here.”  
  
What kind of twisted bastard _is_ my father, for god’s sake? Is fucking my boyfriend whenever he feels like it not enough for him now, that he wants me to join in with some sort of contest that’s straight out of the Hogwarts dorms? I stay right where I am. “Fuck you, Father.” My voice is quite even, considering the fact I’m quivering with annoyance.  
  
“Ah,” he says, turning back to Al, his voice dripping with mock-sorrow. “I don’t think Scorpius wants to know the answer.”  
  
_Screw him_. I’m not intimidated. Al’s certainly never had any complaints – hell, I know there’s nothing wrong with the size of me. I push down the churning mixture of what seems like anger and the cold trickle of humiliation, and get to my feet. He might be longer– Yeah. I guess he is. But so what? I’m pretty sure I’m thicker. The old tosser probably just _looks_ big because he’s so skinny, anyway.  
  
I walk over to Father, stand next to him with my shoulders back, but I can’t resist an anxious glance down at myself. What if— but no. I’m still hard. How could I not be, with Al at our feet looking like that? Even so, I make a fist and wank my foreskin back and forth a couple of times – there’s no harm in appearing to my best advantage and just to make sure, I picture myself pushing Al back onto the bed and fucking him, fast and furious, while my dad watches.  
  
Al’s looking from one to the other of us as if he’s won the jackpot. “I. Uh.” He makes a whimpering sound in his throat and despite everything, my cock jerks in approval. “Scorp is thicker, I think,” Al says, the words slurring from his tongue, and a ridiculous surge of satisfaction blazes in me. “Draco’s a little longer.”  
  
My father looks pleased with the answer, the stupid prick. He gazes smugly at himself and then me. “Well, I’m certain that neither of us have anything to be ashamed of, Scorpius.”  
  
I widen my stance a little, shift position so that I’m closer to Albus. Closer to Father, who in turn angles himself so that we’re almost hip to hip.  
  
“The Malfoy genes have blessed us both, don’t you think?” he asks me, and I can’t help it, I feel a purr of pride rumbling through my chest.  
  
Both of our cocks are pointing directly at Al, and he stares up at us as if in a dream, heartbreakingly hopeful. I don’t think he can actually form words, but the question in his face is crystal clear.  
  
I swallow hard. “Al seems pretty happy with what we’ve got,” I tell Father.  
  
I shift on the spot and my hip bumps against Father’s. Albus groans, a long tangled sound of tortured desire, and Father meets my eyes and raises one eyebrow. “He’s a very fortunate boy. I wonder…”  
  
I hold my breath. It feels like something unthinkable might be about to happen.  
  
“Shall we give him what he wants, Scorpius?”  
  
I have to wet my lips before I can speak. I feel as though I’m burning with a feverish madness. “Both of us,” I say, hardly daring to voice it. “He wants to do it to both of us together.”  
  
My father inclines his head. It’s not quite a nod. But it’s something.  
  
“Yes,” I tell him. It’s a poor croak of a thing. “Yes,” I say again, more firmly.  
  
Al’s eyes are wider than ever, as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing. As if he can’t bear to miss a moment of what’s happening. When my father’s cock nudges between his lips, and I line mine up ready for a turn, my legs begin to shake with something I can’t quite name, but I can’t tear my gaze from Al’s face and the look of blissful anticipation painted all over it.

~*~

I’d know Draco’s taste with my eyes shut. It’s never a strong taste, but I can’t get enough of it. He smells impossibly good, too. His cologne is subtly seductive, and I don’t know what he uses when he bathes but, man, the traces it leaves on his body are enough to make my mouth water. His skin is always fresh and clean, but there’s something else to it, something very masculine, a hint of smoke and leather, of rarefied things, the luxurious fabrics he dresses himself in. Draco tastes _expensive_ , hell yes, and it makes me want to bury my nose in the curls at the base of his cock and snuffle around like a dog.  
  
Scorp tastes more like the beach: sea and sunshine and salt and good times and something sweet, like coconut. I gaze up at him, watching me take his dad’s cock, and he looks so intent, so hungry for it that my chest flips over. But there’s something else in his eyes, something a bit lost, a little bit fearful, and I wonder, I wonder what it is we’re doing here and whether it’s OK to want them both so much.  
  
They’re both standing in front of me, and Draco murmurs something. I’m not even sure what he’s saying, but he looks pleased with me, so pleased, and, oh god, as he slides in again, I ache with how _right_ he tastes.  
  
He touches my face, stroking my cheek as I hollow it, just how he likes it. I want to do everything just as he wants. “Good boy. Oh, Albus.” And then Scorp’s cock – Scorp’s beautiful, thick cock – is brushing against my other cheek and I’m moaning like I might never stop.

 

~*~

It occurs to me that perhaps I should feel guilty for involving these two young men in something rather sordid... Ah, well. I've done worse things than this in my life. They both seem delighted with the arrangement, anyway. And it can’t do Scorpius any harm to learn about pleasure alongside someone who’s a bit of an expert. I wish my father had been thoughtful enough to do the same for me, in fact. I pull Albus onto me until my cock is nudging at his throat, hold him like that for long, delicious seconds until his eyes start to water.  
  
_Mine_ , I think. I don’t need to say it aloud. We both know it. I can see it in his face. I don’t mind sharing with Scorpius – I haven’t got time to keep the boy amused all the time, anyway. Just as long as we’re all quite clear how this works on the times when I _am_ around.  
  
I pull out slowly, riveted by the strand of saliva that stretches from Albus’ tongue to the head of my cock, but before the string has snapped, Scorpius pushes in to take my place between Albus’ waiting lips. He’s watching Albus as if he’s never seen anyone suck cock before, and Albus… Albus takes it as only he can. A string of soft moans bubble from his throat.  
  
“Yes,” I tell them, “deeper,” and it’s a heady thrill when they both comply. In fact… why not? I take hold of Albus’ head, guide him onto my son’s cock. _Yes_. Yes, just like that. I steer him in a steady, relentless back-and-forth until Scorpius sounds like he’s gasping for breath and there’s a rushing in my own ears. I pull Albus away abruptly and sink into the wet velvet of his mouth myself. I’m surprisingly close to coming. His tongue laps at my crown and – _fuck, yes_ – I have to pull out again before I get carried away. “Do that to Scorpius,” I tell him, and watch my son’s eyes screw shut in pleasure as Albus obeys. “Now me. _Ahhh_ yes, Albus, yes. You’re so very good at this.”  
  
His head turns from one of us to the other, taking us in turn, so eager to please. Such a slut for it. Scorpius has edged even closer, and as he sinks deep into Albus’ mouth, Albus reaches for my cock and looks up at me, his lips wet and shiny and stretched. He looks almost beseeching, his eyes wide and ardent. I would have to be hard-hearted indeed to resist. And it is his birthday, after all.  
  
I allow him to angle our cocks so that the heads are a hair’s breadth from touching. His breath is hot and damp as he looks up at us, as if to check that he’s really allowed. A strangled sound comes from Scorpius’ mouth and then Albus’ tongue curls out, wide and soft and greedy, and laps at both of us together.  
  
It’s… surprisingly intense. I hear myself gasping as he glides his lips, his tongue, across our erections. I feel it right down to the soles of my feet, raw and addictive, and push down the nagging thrum of guilt about what it is I’m allowing. What harm can it do? We’re all adults here, all enjoying ourselves. No-one needs to know what Scorpius and I get up to in the privacy of our own home. And – I flick a glance to his face – Scorpius certainly isn’t unhappy with the situation.  
  
Albus stretches his neck, searching for the angle that will allow him to take us both in at once. I know we can’t both fuck his mouth at the same time. The unfortunate reality is that teeth get in the way. But we can get damned close to it. I wind my fingers firmly in his hair. “Open, Albus. Open _wide_.”

~*~

I think my brain might overload. I mean it. I think something might actually give way.  
  
Al’s never been more desirable. I could come just from the look on his face, the aching wonder of it. His lips part and he nuzzles and licks at us as if it’s what he was born to do. I stare and stare at his mouth, so open, willing, avid, until I’m dizzy from looking at it.  
  
“Albus,” my dad murmurs, and his sharp gaze is fixed on Albus, seemingly every bit as fascinated as I am by the sight of him with a cock in each hand trying to stretch his lips around both. “Oh, yes, you like that, don’t you?”  
  
A hideous, inappropriate tickle of laughter swells in my belly. This is so fucking hilarious, because this is better than I'd planned, everything I'd dreamed of, but I always doubted my dad would agree to it, and now here we are, with him thinking it's his idea, all triumphant and shit. I want to laugh out loud, but it’s kind of tinged with hysteria. I didn’t know it was going to feel like this. Like flying too fast in the dark on a broom that’s not even yours. Like you might hit a tree – for all you know, you might hit a bloody _cliff_ at any moment, because you can’t see anything up ahead – but, god, the exhilaration of it, and the night sky is so fucking beautiful, and it feels like starlight is rushing through your veins, glittering and fierce.  
  
I look down; there’s my boyfriend, worshipping me and my father with his mouth and looking as though it’s the best birthday present ever. I feel like I’m flying much too high, but I can’t stop now, can’t ever stop. I’m going to come. Merlin, I’m going to come and I’m so fucking turned on that it scares me a little.  
  
Father’s cock, slippery with Al’s saliva, slides against mine inside Al’s mouth, and it’s like an electric thrill of sensation. I cry out, high and amazed, and clutch at Al’s hair to keep my balance.  
  
“Scorpius,” Father, his voice stern. “Not yet. Wait.”  
  
I need to come. I _have_ to come. How can I not fucking come? But I pull away from the two of them, breathless, my cock twitching helplessly into the air, and somehow manage to keep my balls from emptying out right there on the floor.

 

~*~

I think this is the best day of my life. It’s way better than my real birthday – hell, better than all of my birthdays put together.  
  
Scorp’s so close to coming, I could feel him juddering with it just now, and, god, the way Draco’s looking at me, hungry and sharp, but also protective. Like I’m something precious.  
  
Scorp looked scared earlier, but I can’t feel bad or worried any more when I’m here like this, giving myself to both of them. Draco’s hand is in my hair, holding me steady and I know he’s going to make it so good for all of us. _I_ can make it good for all of us. I know I can. We’ll be OK. Won’t we?  
  
“Touch yourself,” Draco tells me, and while part of me wants to cry at the sheer relief of it, another part doesn’t want it to be over.  
  
I just want to do this for ever and ever.

~*~

Al’s cock is so dark, so flushed. It looks almost painful, the way it jerks in his palm at the merest touch. He’s going to last about four seconds before he spurts everywhere.  
  
My own balls feel so fucking full I think they might explode. Father caresses Al’s face, trailing his fingers over his cheeks, his mouth. Holding his own cock out like a prize. “Don’t come yet. Not till I say. You want it, don’t you, Albus?”  
  
Al just moans and cranes his neck, but Father stands just out of reach.  
  
“I know what you need. You want to come with your mouth full of cock, don’t you?”  
  
“ _Uh_. Please.” Al’s still kneeling, his legs spread wide, cock in hand, not daring to move in case he comes. “Please, Draco. Want it.”  
  
“I know.” My dad’s voice is low and reassuring. He steps towards Al, but ignores his parted lips and rubs his cock against Al’s cheek, instead. “I know.” He brushes Al’s hair back from his forehead, rubs his cock over the damp skin there, and then across the other cheek. His movements are so gentle. Al croons in his throat and closes his eyes, his face yearning and full of reverence. My dad follows the outline of his parted lips with the head of his cock, leaving a smear of pre-come above his top lip. The look on Al’s face, and the fucking _intensity_ that sizzles in the air between the two of them… a sudden stab of jealousy pierces my chest, but at the same time, I have to turn away and grip the base of my cock, hard, to stop myself coming.  
  
“Here, Scorpius,” Father says. Like he’s calling a dog to heel. But I go where he wants me, anyway. Al looks drugged with arousal, his pupils wide and dark, his face slack with pleasure.  
  
“Are you ready?” Father asks me, and I want to laugh at how stupid a question this is.  
  
“What the fuck do you think, Father?” Something makes it come out sharper than I intended. Something about the way Al’s looking at him as if he hung the moon.  
  
Father shoots a look at me, but that’s all, before turning back to Al and letting his prick slip between his waiting lips again. “ _Ahh_.” I can see how hungry Al is for it, how he hollows his cheeks. Father lets out a groan of satisfaction. “Yes,” he says, and Al’s eyes fall closed, his whole face a blissful clench of need.  
  
“Use your hand on Scorpius,” Father tells Al, and I can hear the moan of delight that rumbles in Al’s throat.  
  
“It’ll make me come,” I tell them both, because there’s not the slightest doubt about it.  
  
“Good,” says Father, sounding breathless, and Al moans again, long and loud, and I’m pushing myself into his outstretched hand and feeling like I might break apart with how badly I need this.  
  
Father’s thrusting deep into Al’s mouth, not holding anything back now. “Go on, Scorpius. _Ahh_ — Give it to him.” He gives me a smile that can only be described as depraved. “Do it all over his face.”  
  
_Holy Merlin_. Father’s words tip me over the edge. I start to come and, hell, it’s fucking _fierce_. My legs shake violently, and then Father’s holding me up with a strong hand on my arm. _Ahhh. Fuck._ The first pulse of come hits Al’s face, streaking across his cheek, and I’m startled by the force of it. Father’s fingers dig into my arm and he arches into Al’s mouth and cries out, louder than I’ve heard him before.  
  
I’m coming so hard I think I might never stop. I guess this is what happens when you abstain for days. It hits Al’s nose, his chin, more and more of it, and then, fuck, it’s even dripping down onto Father’s cock as he slams into Al’s mouth. I know it’s wrong – god, so _terribly_ wrong – but that wrongness throbs through me with an addictive rapture as I watch.  
  
I’m gasping and shaking. Al’s beautiful, hell, so beautiful. Every muscle in his body is pulled taut and then he comes, too, with Father’s spunk filling his mouth and mine splattered on his face and dripping down his chin. It’s utterly debauched, and yet he makes it look like something holy.  
  
I wish I could tell him everything I feel. My dad’s arm is around me, holding me steady. Al shudders and moans at our feet, the last of my orgasm shivers through me, hot and joyful and thrilling, and I’m thinking, _I’m so lucky. I’m so bloody lucky._

~*~

I don’t even know exactly how we got into the bath. It sort of took me a while to come back to myself, afterwards. I know that makes me sound crazy, but it was just that good. I remember someone murmuring in my ear, saying stuff that made me feel like I was floating, pressing kisses against my neck, hot and affectionate. Yeah, fairly sure that was Scorp. I remember magic sweeping over my face, cool and elegant, cleaning me up. And then I know there were strong hands on me – two sets. And then this sweet, hazy warmth lapping all around me, and that smell curling up into the air, that gorgeous masculine smell – the one that Draco always carries around on his skin.  
  
Yep, I was pretty gone. At first I didn’t really take in where we were, but when I realised, I started grinning. I always said this bath was big enough for three. The two of them are chatting over my head, some jokey conversation about whose turn it is to Floo-call Scorp’s grandma that evening. They’re needling at each other as usual, in their haughty voices, but it all sounds fairly good-natured. Their legs nudge against mine under the fragrant, bubbly water, Scorp on one side, and Draco on the other, their wet hair lying sleek against their heads, their faces sharp and handsome and strong, and I feel like I could just lie here forever. I don’t need anything else in the world.

~*~

We’ve been in here for quite a while, far longer than I expected Father to tolerate. If he feels anything like me after that monumental sex, though, he’s happy to lie here, semi-boneless, enjoying the warm water and the sight of Al’s soapy wet body lying pliant between us.  
  
Father closes his eyes and lies with his head back. I turn on my side, so that I’m facing Al, and give him a long, slow, open-mouthed kiss. It’s lazy and delicious, with Al murmuring happy, grateful things against my lips, and I’ve almost forgotten Father is there when he interrupts us, sounding irritable.  
  
“I still want you to take that money, Albus. If you won’t do anything sensible with it, then buy yourself something frivolous.”  
  
It’s not the worst idea in the world, I suppose.  
  
“Buy those dragonhide trousers we saw,” I tell Al, and he laughs. “Fuck, do it. You should see them, Father. Soft as butter, and you wouldn’t believe how tight. Finest Horntail hide. I would have got them for him on the spot, but the price tag was something else.”  
  
There’s a pause during which I’m sure Father’s picturing Al’s arse and legs encased in black leather. I know I am. Father smirks to himself. “Hmm. Those jeans he arrived in were bad enough. If this boy steps outside the house wearing dragonhide, the Aurors will be after him.”  
  
“Ha, yeah, that’s right, Al. Your dad’ll come and arrest you.”  
  
Al’s blushing and laughing at the same time. “Arrest me for what, exactly?”  
  
“Public indecency,” I tell him.  
  
“I suspect your hide-clad backside could cause a riot,” my dad suggests.  
  
“Incitement to lewdness,” I add.  
  
We all snicker at that one. I reckon Father is groping Al under cover of the bubbles, because Al’s eyes have gone a bit unfocused again. “I don’t need any more clothes. I’ve— _ah_. Got my new hoodie.” He sighs, and shifts his position slightly, spreading his legs.  
  
“Mmm. You’re very tight.” Father’s eyes are glittering and greedy. “When did you last fuck him, Scorpius?”  
  
_Merlin_. I know exactly when it was. It was last Friday, nearly ten days ago, and it seems like a lifetime…  
  
Al moans, and his cock bobs up above the water, hard and eager. The bubbles part and I see Father’s arm twisting, moving between Al’s legs. I imagine his long fingers stroking, insistent, working their way inside Al.  
  
“Take that money,” he says, and I can tell he’s not in a mood to have his wishes disobeyed. “I want you to have it.”  
  
Al squirms and makes a sound, but I can’t tell whether it’s protest or encouragement.  
  
“Buy something. Anything you want. Enjoy it.”  
  
Al’s brow is furrowed, but Father’s arm twists again and Al’s mouth drops open. “ _Uhhhh_. It’s your money,” Al says. “ _You_ enjoy it.”  
  
Father strokes the hair back from Al’s face, his other hand still busy between Al’s legs. “I shall enjoy thinking of you spending it. It will give me great pleasure.”  
  
Fuck, my dad can actually be quite charming sometimes.  
  
Al’s thinking. “We ought to— _uhh_. We could spend it on something for all three of us. Have a holiday or something.”  
  
And now I know he’s gone crazy. The three of us, travelling together? Yeah, like the Prophet wouldn’t somehow get hold of that story. _Potter the Pervert! Harry’s heir in sick Malfoy love triangle_.  
  
Al stretches his arms above his head. “Wouldn’t that be great? Where would we go? No work to hassle us. Nothing to disturb us. Just a sunny beach, some good food, and – ahhh – loads and loads of sex.”  
  
Shit. I know it can’t happen, but it would be seriously amazing. I picture Al, naked and seductive on the sand of some private beach, his hair tousled from the salt water, skin turning more golden brown every day...  
  
“Some of us have to work for a living.” Father’s voice is like iced water dripping onto sun-warmed flesh. He always has to spoil things.  
  
Al looks as if he’s six and someone stole his chocolate frog. “It was just an idea. Something nice to think about. I— just didn’t want today to be over. I know you have to work.”  
  
Father looks at his disappointed face, then softens. “I do. But not for the rest of the day. I’m taking it off in honour of your birthday.” He sits up and uses the buoyancy of the water to pull a slippery, wet Al into his lap. “Scorpius… add some more hot water, would you?”  
  
It feels too good lying here stretched out to move. “Why do I have to do it?”  
  
“Because I left my wand in the bedroom. And I happen to be busy.” He smiles at Al, and murmurs something to him, low and intimate, as if I’m not even here.  
  
I stand up, and reach for my wand, grumbling to myself.  
  
“Don’t be so tiresome, Scorpius.” I don’t know exactly what Father’s doing to Al, but Al seems to be enjoying it. A lot. “If you stop sulking, you can have another turn with Albus when I’ve finished.”  
  
I give my wand a tetchy flick and set fresh water cascading into the bath at the far end. There’s a low simmer of  
resentment in my belly, but as I turn back to the two of them, Al’s watching me, his eyes soft under heavy lids. He gives me a look of such warmth, such sweetness… like he’s having the best time and he just wants me to share in this moment with him. And despite myself, I feel the corners of my mouth twitch helplessly up into a smile.  
  
My cock stirs beneath the water, oblivious to everything except the piercingly hot sight of my boyfriend shuddering in my father’s lap. I wrap a hand around myself and begin with languid, unhurried strokes as I lie back to enjoy the show.


End file.
